


Happily Ever After

by timkons



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Books, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timkons/pseuds/timkons
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a prince and his stable boy.





	Happily Ever After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kohichapeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kohichapeau/gifts).



Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a lonely prince. The prince was handsome, intelligent, and kind, and as a result, he was loved by all of his people. Since a young age, the King and Queen knew their son would rule the kingdom with one as noble and gentle as he was, but the prince had difficulties returning the affections of his many suitors. Already he was seventeen and had never so much as bring a companion to a royal ball, let alone shown any interest in a royal union.

The King and Queen told him that it wouldn't matter who his partner was -- another man such as himself or one of the lowly peasants -- but still the prince returned night after night with no arm wrapped around his own. In an effort to help their beloved son, the King and Queen decided to hold a series of balls. Once every season, on the last night of the full moon, a wondrous ball would be thrown in the Prince's honor, with suitors invited from all over to come and woo the prince.

It's on a night of this very such kind when Prince Timothy steals away from his ball, directly to the stables. The thing the prince loved above all was his riding pony, and overwhelmed by the ball, he immediately sought his companion. The Prince is shocked to find the stable doors opened, and what's more, the stable boy inside, grooming one of the royal steeds.

"I require my horse," Prince Timothy says, announcing both his presence and need.

"My prince!" the stable boy responds back. The poor lad is so shocked, he nearly drops the brush he'd been stroking through the steed's mane. "Do you... Do you require need of me as well?"

"No, I simply wish to go for a ride," the Prince informs. He's holding himself tightly and feeling more uncomfortable. The lingering feelings from the ball are still sticking to him, and he wants to shake it off as soon as possible.

"I'm grooming the mares for the ceremony tomorrow. I thought to have them fresh would be best." Prince Timothy looks over the stable boy's handiwork and nods approvingly. The King and Queen will be pleased with his work tomorrow. "That is to say, I'm afraid your riding horse isn't prepared. I thought the prince would be more occupied with his own ball than his horse." 

Prince Timothy recognizes the prodding for what it is, but he chooses to keep his feelings secret, as he has always done.

"Prepare him," he says, and it almost sounds like a command before he adds, softly, "please."

The stable boy gives his prince a look but, of course, acquiesces. He leashes the mare he was grooming to a stand before heading to the stall where the Prince's riding horse is kept. In truth, he's surprised his Prince is so polite, even to one in a station as low as him. He's had few encounters with his Prince before, but never where the Prince seemed so distressed. "Bit late for a ride, isn't it?"

"I wish to rid myself of these feelings," the Prince explains simply. "A good ride will clear my mind."

"Have you need of me to assist you with a lantern?" the stable boy asks carefully as he begins to prepare the horse with the usual reins.

"No, I-- No."

The stable boy steals glances at the Prince between his preparation, though working as quickly as possible. "Excuse me for noticing, but you seem rather distressed. The other servants might say it's above their station to ask, but you look like you really need to talk."

"I..." The Prince shuts his mouth from gaping. He's staring as the stable boy continue to work seamlessly, but he's lost for words. Never has he encountered such a direct, unruly servant. Though he seemed well mannered and obedient enough, Prince Timothy blinks at the question. "It doesn't concern you."

"Of course your matters of the heart concern me!" the stable boy insists, tightening a rein passionately. "You're my prince. What affects you affects all the land."

For the first time in perhaps his entire life, Prince Timothy is at a loss. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and tries again. "Never has anyone asked of my feelings. They're either too polite to ask or don't care."

"Well not me," the stable boy replies as he leads the horse to his owner. "Obviously. So, what happened?"

Prince Timothy shifts his gaze from the horse to the stable boy, eyes narrowing. His lips are pulled thin with suspicion. It's not his first encounter with the stable boy, Conner, known for being a bastard son, and what's more is that he shouldn't air his business to the likes of a servant. He shouldn't explain anything -- not the princess who threw a drink at him, not the princess's mother, who called him frigid, not the way his parents looked at him in disappointment at turning away yet another suitor -- and yet, there's something disarming about the way the stable boy smiles cheekily, and before Timothy knows it, Conner has born witness to every detail.

"Oh, well that's simple," the stable boy says, after Prince Timothy has revealed his soul. "If it's just a matter of wooing princesses, I'll teach you."

"As if you've wooed a princess," the prince says dryly.

"I've wooed many a girl I've called princess," the stable boy says, winking.

Prince Timothy passes his reins to the stable boy and decides it's too late for a ride after all.

-

It's a silly proposition, and not one that Prince Timothy thinks of in the passing days. He doesn't notice the stable boy as he appears at the servant line-up in the mornings or running chores between the stables and the main servants' quarters. He's taken a liking to watching the stable boy bus around, true, but only because it's any ruler's duty to know what each and every one of their subjects does. He merely wants to see if his servant's word is as good as he says it is, carefully watching the stable boy's interactions with the milk maids and -- surprisingly -- a few of the page boys. Prince Timothy may entertain the thought of his stable boy preparing a horse for Prince Timothy's future coronation, but he certainly pays no heed to thoughts of what his stable boy might look like with a milk maid's skirt turned over his head.

-

"Back to ride again? Thought you might show up at the crack of midnight when your carriage dissolves into a pumpkin," the stable boy teases next time Prince Timothy comes to ride. It's midday and perfect time for an afternoon ride, if not for unruly servants making it more difficult than necessary.

"The lunar balls are my parents' doing," Timothy replies simply as he mounts his steed. For the past several days, he's been riding more regularly than usual, to the point where his rear feels a little sore, and it's created a routine where the stable boy knows to prepare the Prince's riding horse every day.

The stable boy leans over the gate to his steed's stall. "Are you sure you don't want me to teach you to woo princesses? They make much better for riding than horses."

Timothy nearly falls off his horse as the stable boy doubles over in laughter. The Prince gallops away, most assuredly thinking only the most innocent of riding thoughts.

-

But he thinks about it at night. Rather, he can't stop thinking about it at night. His stable boy wooing princesses, wooing Timothy. He certainly had the look to fit the bill.

How natural he would look! Hair slicked back and freshly shaven, he'd stroll up to any princess, who would immediately preen under his attention and listen to his stories of riding horses. How natural he would look in the royal dyes and velvets, gliding across the ballroom floor with a lover in hand. How natural he would look, turning his jaw and offering a gloved hand and a warm smile to Prince Timothy...

When Tim wakes up, he feels dizzy, as if he's been dancing all night.

-

"I shall take you up on your offer," Timothy says casually, mounting his riding pony.

The stable boy takes a firm step back, eyes wide with fear. "My prince! It was only in jest! I never meant to--"

"You have nothing to fear," Timothy cuts in, as though reading the stable boy's mind. "We shall meet at a time when everybody else is occupied so as to not cause suspicion. Take an early afternoon supper and meet me here. My parents will suspect nothing of me lunching in the meadows."

The stable boy's face flounders to settle on an expression, torn between the sharp arch of skepticism and the lax fall of shock. He appears more calm now, taking a deep breath, a swallow, and a nod. "As you wish."

-

Some days later, Timothy slips away in the afternoon to rendezvous with the stable boy. Though he'd determined the terms of the agreement, it doesn't make sitting across from the stable boy any less nerve-wracking. Both take a deep breath, as if unsure what to say.

"You can call me Kon, by the way," the stable boy says. The edge of his mouth quirks up, dimpling a side of his face as though he's trying not to laugh. "Or Beloved, since I'll be wooing you."

"I think not," Timothy says warmly, though he laughs at the jest. It helps relax his shoulders and the prince notices a change in the other boy as well. "You may call me Tim."

Kon's eyes go wide and he shakes his head. "You're the prince! I could never."

"Tim will do." His tone is firmer, not quite a command, but something that might be a barb between friends. "Now, are you going to fight me about my name all day or will you teach me how to woo?"

Watching Tim carefully as though he suspects this still might be a scam to dupe him into punishment, Kon takes a deep breath.

"Look at me," Kon demands, and their eyes snap together. They sit across from each other, holding eye contact. "Look her in the eyes. If she's not interested, she'll look away. But if she's interested, she'll look you back."

Tim nods but he's just noticing the way Kon's eyes soften around the edges and how blue his irises are.

"And then you should compliment her. Maids like hearing that, so I think princesses might fancy it too. It's good to drag your eyes down all sexy and then say it," Kon explains, gaze slowly dragging from Tim's eyes to his cheeks -- which he fears are flushed now, curiously -- to the small parting of Tim's lips, down his neck, across his collar, and down the rest of his body as though undressing him with his eyes. Tim shifts uncomfortably, feeling disrobed, and when kon's eyes work back up his body to Tim's eyes, he's smirking. "Like that."

"O-Okay."

"You try it," Kon prompts. He straightens up as though princesses embodied perfect posture, eyes wide in excitement for his student's first lesson.

Tim's eyes haven't moved when he says, "you have the prettiest eyes."

Kon beams, nodding. "That's good! They like things like that." Tim blushes a bit under the praise, so different from the criticism he seems to receive everywhere else. "But you didn't look down my body. You should do that."

Tim tries again, but only makes it down to Kon's collar, loosely unlaced to the middle of his chest, a peak of the onset of manhood's hair peeking from his tunic, before darting back up immediately to Kon's eyes. "Your muscles are becoming."

"Her--? Uh." Kon seems to realize the compliment was aimed at him and not a fictional woman with some bosom he doesn't have. "I meant-- the princess. But....yeah. That's good. I think."

The two blush in turn, deciding that's enough practice for today.

-

Kon's next lesson, on how to approach a princess at a ball, would be improved had Kon actually attended any balls or knew any princesses. As it were, the lesson seems to be more about seducing maidservants than winning the political alliance or affections of a princess. Still, as Kon's arms wrap around his waist from behind and Kon leans his mouth close to Tim's ear and whispers into it, Tim doesn't have the heart to tell Kon that royalty doesn't woo in such ways. He closes his eyes and nods when Kon asks, "do you do think you are ready to practice?"

Kon turns around and shifts in Tim's arms, directing the prince's hands to either of his hip bones. They lean close together a moment, Tim's mouth dangerously close to Kon's ear, and breathe.

"When I get you alone, I'm going to do unspeakable things to you," Tim recites from one of the romances he read recently. Kon nods, shivering, and says that's exactly how a princess will feel.

-

Prince Timothy has learned one thing from his parents, and that's generosity. Kon's generous gift of teaching the young prince how to woo doesn't go unnoticed, and Prince Timothy resolves to return the favor tenfold.

"You don't know your letters, do you?" Tim asks, during a lesson of what conversation to strike with seemly ladies.

"That is most definitely not a question you should ask," Kon replies, scandalized, shaking his head from side-to-side. "If she says no, then you've insulted her. And if she says yes, then you know she's boring."

"I like to read," Tim disagrees, pulling a book from his knapsack beside him and opening up to a page marked with pressed lilac, a page of print and scribbles of his own. "And I'm talking about you."

The dubious expression from a fortnight ago returns to Kon's face, eyebrows pinched tight. "Teach me? Why?"

"It's helpful to know your letters and numbers," Tim reasons mildly.

"Stable boys don't need to know letters or numbers," Kon says immediately, in a flat voice, as if parroting back what he's been told before. He begins to grasp at the straws of hay surrounding them, apparently needing something to occupy his fidgeting hands. "What's the use? I have no need for reading."

The prince looks up from the spot he's been staring at, only to find Kon looking no more convinced. Tim rubs his knees with the palms of his hands and sighs, trying to sort out his thoughts. In truth, he knew he wanted to reciprocate the gift Kon was giving him, but he was unsure of what would be helpful to the boy. "I want to repay you for teaching me, so I want to teach you something too."

"You're my prince," is all Kon says, slightly exasperated. "You don't need to pay me back."

"I think you...a friend." Tim's voice is quiet and his words hang between them. Kon eventually looks up to meet Tim's eyes, and Tim can almost see Kon turning the words over in his head.

"Oh... That's...cool. Me too. I mean," Kon's voice dips low, in a tone of shyness, complete with matching red cheeks, "I also think of you fondly. And I don't know. My letters."

"I'll bring a picture book next time," the prince promises, and his stable boy nods back with a shy smile.

-

By the time of the Spring's End Lunar Ball, Kon knows the first three letters alphabet and even wrote a rhyme to remember them. Tim penned the poem into his journal, letting Kon write out the first three letters in his unlearned penmanship. Tim attempts to smile amiably at the princess who curtsies before him, but all he can think of is the way Kon gleefully pointed out every A, B, and C in the picture book Tim brought last time, as though he was the first man to discover the letters.

Tim attempts to enact the skills Kon taught him, from the way to look at woman's eyes or body appreciatively to the topics of romance. He attempts to be present as the princess tells him of some silly thing a rival princess did, placing her hands on her hips. It's a simple motion but one that makes the prince laugh despite how inappropriate it is, for it reminds him of how Kon placed his hands on his hips, announcing that he memorized his letters, and started to recite,

 _"A is the shape of an anus_  
_With its little gaping hole._  
_B is the shape of girls' bosoms_  
_Bouncing sidewards as they roll._  
_C is the shape of maidens' cli--"_

_"That's enough for today. I'm glad you've remembered your letters."_

Tim smiles easily and apparently laughs at the right time, because the princess flushes prettily beneath Tim's gaze and holds his gaze. Tim can't help but notice how empty he feels when he looks at her honey-colored eyes and can't shake visions of eyes deeper blue than the sky. It seems he still requires lessons from Kon.

-

"Did it work?" Kon asks excitedly, dropping the bushel of hay he was holding to run beside Tim. The stable boy watches his prince as though he were something special, something to behold, and Tim squirms beneath the attention, finding his cheeks hotter than under any of the scrutiny at the ball.

"It worked. But it still...doesn't..." The young prince balls his fists, frustration pooling tight in his belly. He can recall the delicate details of the princess, how her lip curved like a painting, but just like a painting, he felt no physical connection to her. "It never...feels right."

"Maybe you don't like princesses," Kon says, eyeing Tim from top to bottom as if seeing him for the first time. "Have you ever wooed a prince? Servant boys aren't much different from princes, I imagine, and they're just as fun to fool around with as the servant girls."

The first image to pop in Tim's mind is imagining Kon with Tim's serving boy's legs wrapped around him and Kon's hands grasping in the boy's hair, rutting together through their chaps against the wall of the barn like the animals within it. His chest tightens painfully as his brows narrow. He feels just as detached as when he spoke to that princess, except filled with something ugly.

-

"Timothy! Leave the serving boy alone," the King commands at dinner, placing down his silverware with a loud clink. "It isn't the boy's fault your meat is cold. Are you going to accuse the boy for day becoming night too?"

Tim holds his head down sulkily and picks at his food with his silver. "I'm not hungry. I think I'll retire to bed."

-

"I'm tired!" Kon whines, falling backwards into a stack of hay. "And I have work to do. At least give me a break!"

"You won't remember your letters if you don't practice every day," Tim scolds gently, picking up the book from where Kon slammed it shut and dropped it to the ground. Perhaps it was too much to expect Kon to read tales out loud fluently. Kon had barely learned his letters and still mixed up lowercase Ds and Bs, along with other understandable mistakes. Kon wasn't able to make it through the first sentence of Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid before becoming frustrated with the word 'ocean,' which he pronounced three times with both hard and soft Cs before giving up.

Tim settles himself beside where Kon has decided to take an impromptu nap, opening the book back to the tale. "I'll read out loud and you follow along. I'll point to the words as I go, see?"

Kon rolls over, skepticism etched on his face and hay in his hair that Tim feels the need to pull out, but he sighs, defeated. "Fine."

Kon barely sits up enough to see the words as Tim begins to read. "Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it..."

They remain stiffly apart, but during the middle of the tale, Tim notices Kon's head settled atop his shoulder, leaned just so to watch Tim's lips move rather than watch Tim point from word to word. Tim taps the book lightly but reprimandingly against Kon's forehead. "Stop staring at me. Follow along."

"Yes, your majesty," Kon says patronizingly, but resumes following Tim's fingertips with a smile.

-

A lesson of wooing and a lesson of letters becomes their new routine. Kon teaches Tim of the best way to learn a lord or lady's interest, how to captivate them with a single look (not that he will ever master it in the way Kon has, Tim muses), and how to read their body language.

"A man's body speaks differently than a woman's," Kon explains. "A woman speaks with her curves, guiding your eye this way and that. They will tease you and enjoy it. Between two men..." Tim's breath hitches and he clenches his eyes shut. "Everything is more direct. There's no need for silly games."

"You know so much," Tim whispers, that ugly feeling creeping up again. It knots his stomach and squeezes at his throat, making it hard to speak. In the back of Tim's mind, he can't help but wonder who Kon has done this with to know so much.

"It's nothing special," Kon insists. He's watching Tim and Tim alone, and in that moment, Tim can pretend that he's the only one Kon has beheld with such intensity.

-

Next time Time comes for a ride and a lesson, Kon shoves a handful of soft but dirty petals and roots at Tim's chest. "For you."

"What is this?" the prince says a bit disdainfully, shaking the dirt from his clean shirt. He takes the proffered gift and shakes them out similarly, the beginnings of a smile dawning his face at the sight of lavender and sunshine-dipped petals. "These are--"

"Nothing compared to the Royal Garden, I know," Kon cuts in. He shuffles from foot to foot, digging his toe in the ground. "But I thought you might be able to press them between one of your books. I've noticed you do that kind of thing."

Tim pets the wildflowers gently and says, gratefully, "thank you."

"See, you liked that gift," Kon says, now looking at the ground. Tim notices the way Kon stuffs his hands into his pockets but says nothing. "When you woo a prince, think about what he likes and gift thoughtfully. It's better than a steed or a castle, since he can have those things whenever he wants anyway."

"So if I were properly wooed, I might kiss your cheek now? I mean, according to your lessons," Tim says quietly. He watches the stable boy's reaction and feels a strange pang in his chest when Kon clears his throat and takes a step back, suddenly as spooked as a horse.

"If you were properly wooed. But you haven't even begun to woo a prince yet or have a prince woo you, have you?" Kon almost sounds annoyed, and he won't meet Tim's eye.

"No, I haven't," Tim agrees, bringing the wildflowers to his face to inhale deeply.

-

"Accompany me," Tim says, after he's mounted his steed. He looks down at Kon from his perch, down at a face wide with surprise. "It's the end of summer and I don't wish to make a fool of myself like last time."

"You weren't a fool," Kon insists, face becoming stony as he finishes preparations for Tim's ride. "I'm sure of it."

"You weren't there."

A silence hangs between them and Kon drops his head, once again reminded of their social difference. He backs away from Tim and his horse, mouth pinched. "No, but..."

"Kon. Come with me." Tim guides his horse to take a step forward, closing the space Kon just made.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," Kon says lamely.

"And the things we do in here are perfectly appropriate?" Tim counters, immediately regretting it. Kon looks away, face flushed red and bent in a way that projects frustration. Tim takes a deep breath, mentally kicking himself for bringing their friendship into question. "I didn't mean it like that. But seriously, come. I'll dress you in finery and pass you for my servant boy. Nobody needs to know."

Kon toes the tip of his boot into the dirt, eyes still trained away from Tim. "This sounds..."

"Please. I don't want to be alone again." Tim bites his lips, hating the pettiness of this feeling. He can't even begin to describe why he wants Kon to come with him, other than he needs it, in the same way he feels like he needs water or bread. He hangs his head pitifully, supposing he's merely anxious to perform the skills Kon's taught him without Kon by his side. "What if... What if I meet a prince I like and don't know what to do?"

"...Fine," Kon says, tone mysteriously bitter.

-

"Him?"

"No."

"What about him?"

"No."

"Okaaay... What about that one?"

"No! I don't care for people just because they happen to be princes," Tim says in exasperation.

"Well you aren't getting any closer to finding your prince," Kon says petulantly, crossing his arms. The fabric stretches across his shoulders until it pinches and he resettles his arms comfortably. Kon's much...broader than Tim's servant boy, and the tailor could only do so much with an hour's notice. Despite how tight the clothes are, Kon looks the part. He's been cleaned up, trimmed, and dolled up as somebody fitting the station to serve the prince directly. Tim's never cared much for his servants, but he knows the rumors of other royalty and the liaisons with their personal attendants. Rumors have already started of who Tim's new attendant is and why Tim got rid of the old one.

"If all I cared for was looks, then any of these men would be fine. Just a few more layers of velvet and even you would look the part," Tim teases.

"I can barely stand this," Kon says uncomfortably. He tugs at his collar, though he has enough space for his neck, and Tim notices a bead of sweat gather at his brow. "How do you people wear so many sheets? It feels like I'm wearing all the bedding."

"You're barely wearing the minimum," Tim says. "Stop being so delicate."

Kon huffs and Tim knows it's because he's stroke a nerve. "I'm not delicate."

"You have delicate features, if your hands weren't so rough from working with leather. Your face is actually quite agreeable," Tim lists off simply. There's a long pause and Tim realizes he's said something wrong. It was an objective observation, but Kon begins to blush beside him as though Tim had bestowed the greatest of compliments on him.

"Stable boys aren't meant to look...delicate," Kon whispers.

"You're my attendant for the night," Tim reasons with a shrug. "Attendant boys are very delicate."

Tim and Kon both laugh after a second, forgetting the suitors at once. They turn their attention to the suitor's attendants, making fun of their frilly garbs and guessing which ones are truly having liaisons with their masters.

-

"And they lived happily ever after."

Kon breathes deeply as he lets Tim's words linger in his mind. He finally opens his eyes after imagining the tale of enchantment and romance play behind his eyes. Even Tim seems to take the moment to appreciate the magical quality of the tale by the way he leans back to watch the clouds slowly tumble past them.

"Read it to me again," Kon sighs from where he's laying by Tim's hip and looking at the wind change the clouds from rabbits into horses into brave knights into two kings gliding through the castle hand-in-hand.

Tim flips back to the beginning, humming, and places the book cut to the beginning of the chapter on Kon's chest. "You read it this time."

Kon makes a complicated sound and pinches his face. Just as Tim's about to tell him not to be like that, he sits up and stares at the pages.

"I... I can't," he says finally. Kon doesn't shut the book, but the pages remain in his shaky hands. He's glaring at the letters as though they were personally offending him, threatening to attack.

"You've been practicing for months now," Tim reminds gently, placing a hand on Kon's stiff forearms. "You haven't tried reciting anything other than picture books since I started reading to you. You're ready for something more difficult. Just try it once."

"...I don't want to," Kon admits sullenly. The way he frowns makes the bags beneath his eyes look deeper, like the way a child might frown when told to eat their greens. "It won't be as good as the way you do it."

"It's not a competition." Tim pulls his legs to his chest and leans on Kon's shoulder. It's similar to the way Kon usually leans on his whenever Tim recites to him. "Please? For me."

Kon shakes his head, sighs in resignation, and inhales deeply. Tim feels feels Kon tense beneath his cheek and squeezes Kon's forearm as reassurance.

"One fine evening, a young princess put on her bone-- bon-- bonnet and clogs..." Kon cast a wary glance to Tim, who nods encouragingly despite Kon's misread. Kon swallows thickly, his cheeks wearing a shade of red Tim's never seen on his face before, and continues, "and went out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool spring of water with a rose in the middle of it, she sat herself down to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her favorite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and catching it again as it fell."

Slowly throughout the recitation, Kon's nervousness begins to fade and he reads faster, more confidently. Eventually Tim lets his hand slip to the crook of Kon's elbow and lets it hang comfortably there. He nuzzles his cheek against Kon's shoulder. The other boy shrugs at him midway through the tale, tone gruff and accusatory. "Are you laughing at me?"

"What? I'm--" smiling, Tim realizes. He hadn't realized he'd been smiling so easily. "I was in a daze."

"...Is my tone so boring?" Kon's voice drops lowly, and Tim doesn't have to know the stable boy so well to recognize it as disappointment.

"No! I-- liked it. Too much, in fact. The tone of your voice is pleasing to me." Tim feels his face heat up all the way to his ears and looks away, hoping Kon hasn't noticed.

Kon licks his bottom lip for a few moments and holds the book up again, eyes scanning to see where he left off. "You should reserve that kind of talk for your prince. After a time she threw it up so high that she missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded away, and rolled along on the ground, until at last it fell down into the spring..."

-

"Shall I prepare your steed for tomorrow as well?" Kon asks, though the prince doesn't need to answer for him to know that rain or shine, Tim will come to the stables for him.

"Prepare my horse and another one for yourself," Tim says easily, dismounting his riding pony. "I should like to go out for a ride with company again tomorrow."

"As you wish, my prince," Kon replies in a tone far too mocking to be taken as genuine obedience.

Tim smirks at the response despite the complete disregard for respecting Tim's station, and lets his boots hits the ground with a solid thump. He walks toward the corner where he keeps spare robes. Since riding so regularly, Kon suggested Tim keep his riding gear in the stables and prepared him a cabinet. The young prince practically kicks off his boots and pulls a pair of his walking laces from the cabinet.

"You dropped something from your riding sack," Kon announces from behind the thin changing screen separating Tim's space from the rest of the stables.

"What is it?" Tim asks idly, more interested in fitting his laces than whatever he dropped. There's little he owns that he hasn't shared with Kon.

"One of your books. I haven't seen this one before. It's-- Oh, there's pictures in it."

Tim drops his laces and nearly kicks the screen away as he rushes toward Kon. No sooner than snatching the book, he slams it shut, shielding it protectively against his chest. He can't hear over the pounding of blood in his ears and he practically snarls. "How much did you read?"

"N-None of it," Kon says in a small voice. "It's all in a script that's...difficult."

"It's cursive," Tim says defensively. He takes a step back without realizing it.

"It's pretty," Kon says mildly. His smile is easy, as though he didn't just see pages upon pages of Tim's vividly detailed fantasies of his stable boy's arms or chest and how it might feel to be embraced by them. "I should like to learn how to read it." Tim's heart clenches at the hopeful glimmer in both Kon's eye and voice. Kon seems to realize it himself and looks down as if training the smile off his face. "That is, if you should like to teach me."

"Yes." Tim says it stiffly, posture unrelenting. "Not-- Not with this book, however."

Tim scurries back to the safety of behind the screen before letting out a deep exhale. That was...close. He's lucky he hadn't thought to teach Kon script yet, but next time he might not be so lucky. He would have to start writing in shorthand from now on to keep his journals absolutely private. Tim tucks the journal into his breast pocket and resumes fiddling with his laces. As he finishes tying his right boot, he considers that Kon might have seen-- Tim clutches his eyes shut, knowing perfectly well the anatomically structured and proportioned sketches of his stable boy's jaw and eyes he'd etched into the book. Those were some of the more innocent kind, the rest filled with the form Tim imagined of other muscles and limbs he'd never seen firsthand.

"What kind of-- pictures did you see?"

"I, uh, I was hoping you wouldn't ask but...arms, mostly. Lots of hands. It's-- I thought you hadn't begun to fancy a prince," Kon says. There's an indescribable upturn in his voice, more of a strain, but Tim can't place it. He can't try to guess at what that emotion might be from Kon's face either because he looks away. "I thought you might tell me that there was a prince that caught your eye at the ball."

"It's pure fantasy," Tim says simply. He steps out from behind the changing screen, now properly attired. "It's not real. Forget it."

"As you wish," Kon says when Tim walks past him, and it doesn't sound mocking at all.

-

"Is there truly no prince who catches your eye?" Kon asks in a strained voice, after showing Tim how to best hold a door open for a man. 'It's different than holding a door open for a maid,' Kon insisted, though Tim thought to himself how royalty never open their own doors. Perhaps another time he might tell Kon, when Kon's arm wasn't near his ear, attempting to tuck Tim's frame against his own, practically pressing against him like a spoon.

Tim watches Kon's face carefully, studying the way the sunlight hits his face and his teeth worry his bottom lip.

"No," he says honestly and smiles at the way Kon's face softens. "In truth, I've never given it much thought. I always thought I would marry a princess. It's-- a lot more practical thing for a royal family to have a prince and princess."

Kon shrugs, grinning. "There's a lot of other ways to have a family. The countryside's never out of a shortage of bastards!"

Tim knows it's a joke by Kon's smile and tone, but he frowns all the same. Tim slips out from beneath Kon's arm, voice serious and quiet when he says, "you're more than a bastard son."

"I know. I'm not mad about it anymore. I used to be, but now it makes me want to be better. I want to keep all my children and recognize them as mine. I want a big family," he says, watching Tim carefully, "no matter how I beget them."

"Even if...you're not the one to beget them?" Tim ventures carefully, suddenly painful aware of a tenseness in his body he wasn't aware of before.

"It's not just blood that creates a family," Kon says easily. "As a bastard, that was the first lesson I learned."

Kon holds Tim's eye and it feels like something meaningful passes between them. Even if it turns out Tim does prefer Princes to Princesses, he's not alone. He has a friend just like him, one who would tumble with a lord just as well as with a lady. Preferences are fine and well for tumbling, it was no secret that many kings often had a choice attendant, but for a family....

Tim closes his eyes and imagines what his life would have been like with a big family. He can't say that he's always been fond of the thought, but he likes the idea of being surrounded by little ones now, a loving partner at his side. "A big family.... That sounds pleasant."

-

Tim decides on a picnic in the meadow next time, and Kon agrees only because it's what Tim's been telling the staff he's been doing all this time anyway. They set off, just the two of them, mares loaded with baskets of meat, cheese, and canteens of water. The crisp autumn breeze gently whips Tim's hair in the air, and if not for their horses carefully transporting their midday meal, Tim would propose a race. He can't bring himself to regret the long-winded ride, however, because listening to Kon's point out the different birds and sing back to them is pleasant enough.

"I've never seen half of these things," Kon says, once they've chosen a spot to settle a woolen sheet beneath them for warmth. The chill of winter hasn't settled yet, but these days require an extra layer more often times than not. He begins to unpack the breads and fruits as Tim arranges the more delicate ware: little saucers of sauces and dips, infused butter slices blocked into small squares, and a small cork-capped bottle of wine to accompany their meal.

"It's nothing extravagant," Tim insists, though his cheeks are a little warm. He told his servants to prepare his usual, simple fare, giving no thought to how different that might be from Kon's meals.

"Says you." Kon reaches for one of the cheese-crusted loaves and makes a face. Tim's nearly worried his friend think ill of it until Kon's face splits in half from a pleased smile. He hums erotically while stuffing his face with the olive and cranberry breads as well, one armed in each hand. "I fear I will starve myself from now on unless I'm given olive bread with every meal."

"I'll see what I can arrange," Tim teases back. Kon's eyes widen in surprise, and Tim laughs, making a mental note to carry through with that jest. He's pleased enough just to watch Kon's reactions to all the new treats, but Kon eventually slows down, sipping his wine conservatively and smearing the butters across sliced bread with slower gusto.

"There will be many princes at the upcoming ball," Kon says, as if it's no significant thing. Their eyes meet for a single moment and then dart away. "Do you have your eyes set on one already? They say you are fond of the youngest Grayson prince and that he comes to seek your favor."

"My fondness for him is no different than my fondness for anybody else," Tim insists. He remembers a lesson on keeping his demeanor calm and collected, fitting of the future king. "Who spreads such rumors about their prince?"

Kon's face snaps down instantly. "I'm sorry. It's only the talk of the house servants. They--"

"It's fine." He dips a finely-cut piece of chicken into one of the savory jams to buy some time to think. "It will go as well as all my other attempts, I suppose." Kon shifts uncomfortably and Tim's body language mirrors it. "Let's talk of more pleasant things."

"Such as?"

Tim only smiles before flinging a spoonful of jelly at Kon's face.

-

Tim spends an hour in the bath scrubbing off crusty remains of the food-fight from his skin and has no illusions that Kon wasn't scolded for ruining his only riding uniform. He's already called for his servant to deliver Kon two new riding outfits in apology and to sneak him a slice of olive bread with each meal. Closing his eyes and sinking into the bubbly enclave of his bath, he attempts to settle the uncertain feeling stirring in his chest whenever he thinks about the upcoming lunar ball.

-

At the Autumn's End Lunar Ball, Tim once again insists that Kon accompany him as personal attendant. This time the tailor insisted on preparing Kon's garb earlier, making sure that he looked fit enough to be presentable with the prince. Tim has no intentions of parading Kon about like some of his more shameless suitors, but it's a pity he doesn't, he thinks, stealing a glance at Kon.

"Are these robes more to your liking?" Tim asks, casually sipping at wine as he looks over the balcony railing to his slew of suitors dancing across the dancefloor.

"At least they fit me this time." Kon demonstrates showing how he can bend and flex his arm, and Tim allows his eyes to linger. He's too busy looking at Kon that he nearly misses how Kon points to two figures below. "The Queen is motioning for you."

Tim spares a glance at his mother and winces, a look that Kon doesn't fail to notice. "There's no time for me to escape. I suppose she wouldn't believe me if I said I didn't see her."

"She's with a suitor. It seems like the rumors of your preference have spread," Kon points out, crossing his arms. "You should say hello."

"Why? I'm not interested," Tim whines. He feels the dread begin to knot in his stomach and bubble up to his throat as his mother and the unnoteworthy prince begin to approach. Tim's too busy looking at Kon to bother with his mother or whichever prince she plans to wed him of to, too busy watching the muscles in Kon's cheek and lips twitch as though he were holding his face even and expressionless.

"You are here to be married, you remember?"

"As you wish," Tim says mockingly and sighs. He notices Kon stiffen beside him and when Tim looks over his shoulder to his friend one last time before he leaves, he notices the slip of Kon's face for a moment. Tim's never seen his eyes filled with such loss, and he feels a pang of guilt flicker down his spine as hurries down the stairs.

-

"How did it go this time?" Kon asks the next time they're alone in the stable.

"A failure, of course," Tim says easily. He extends an hand for Kon to take, lips pressing to his knuckles. Kon insists this will woo princes and princesses alike, and Tim can't disagree.

-

As it begins to get colder, there's less reason to go to the stable. Rationally, Tim knows this. His horse begins to whine at the cold ground against his hooves, far too delicate a horse for such weather.

"He's opposed to a ride today as well," Tim announces. It's the fifth day in a row, but Kon says nothing of Tim showing up day-after-day. He silently prepares the horse every day, like some kind of mask they both need to lie to themselves for Tim's true reason for coming to the stables.

"We could...read?" Kon's the one to suggest it.

"Where'd you put our books?" Their usual shelf of books is nowhere to be found, he notices. Where their books are usually mixed together in a smattering of Kon's picture books, romances, and husbandry guides and Tim's mysteries, histories, and verses, sits now a blank space.

"I moved it. Come see," Kon insists, tugging Tim by the wrist. Tim lets himself be led to the corner beside Tim's cabinet, now refashioned with shelf nearby and the changing screen blocking it from the stables in a more intimate arrangement. There's new space for two and that's not the only addition; Kon's added two large but flat pillows and a frayed, woolen blanket, which looks strikingly similar to the blanket they used for picnicking throughout all of autumn.

" _Wow_ ," is all Tim says, a hint breathless, looking about before taking a seat on one of the pillows. Kon takes a seat on the only other pillow and it's a tight fit, so tight their shoulders bump and Kon's thigh presses against Tim's all the way to the knee.

"It's a little small," Kon apologizes. He squares his shoulders and squeezes in on himself, obviously trying to make himself smaller for Tim's sake, but Tim merely crowds his body into Kon's space, just to make a point.

"It's cozy," Tim corrects.

"There's other things about it too! We have a pitcher now. And a box to keep the gnats out in summer," Kon rambles off, demonstrating the new features of their space. "Do you...like it?"

Even if Tim hadn't liked the thoughtful gift, there's no way he could say otherwise when Kon's eyes are hopeful and wide enough to reflect Tim back in them. "Yes."

"I'm glad," Kon breathes. "I arranged it for you."

"It's the best gift I've ever received," Tim says honestly, reaching for one of his favorite mysteries. With Kon's exhale, his body relaxes into the space. Tim's elbow rests on Kon's hip and Kon sneaks a hand near the small of Tim's back to make their arrangement more comfortable, the book balancing one cover on Tim's thigh and the other on Kon's. It's a tight fit but comfortable.

-

Tim sighs, dropping the book in his hands. Kon hands him a glass of warm mead Tim "borrowed" from the kitchens and leans into his space. "Book took a bad turn?"

"No, it's poetry," Tim says simply. When Kon lifts a brow as if to say, 'and so?', Tim sighs in frustration. "I don't understand poetry. It's too pretty and too shallow."

"I love poetry," Kon admits with a shy smile. "It's bouncy and fun. I like to think rhymes while I work. All the servants make dirty rhymes about the suitors after the big feasts."

"Really?" Tim grins at the thought but then frowns. "None about me, I hope."

"I would never allow them to sully your honor like that," Kon assures. His seriousness lasts for only a moment before he's grinning again. "I made one up last night. Would you like to hear?"

"Of course." Tim folds himself against Kon, looking up expectantly.

Kon clears his throat and stifles a few laughs already creeping up. "Very well. Here goes:  
Zeus went to the barn to lay  
A filly he saw in some hay.  
He changed to a horse  
And fucked her, of course,  
But when asked for more, she said 'neigh.'"

Tim shoves at Kon's shoulders, shaking his head despite his laughter. "Pervert."

"Nay," Kon teases, pushing back. Kon shoves back with more force and it huddles Tim into the corner, his face no more than an inch away from Kon's. They breathe for a few seconds, Kon's eyes holding Tim's gaze before slowly dragging down his to his cheeks and lips. Kon's gaze remains entranced there for what seems like a second too short before snapping back to Tim's eyes. He pulls away, back into the space he occupied before, breathing a little bit heavier than before.

-

"You smell like horse," the King says disdainfully, wrinkling his nose. "Go bathe."

"I bathed this morning," Tim insists.

"Bathe again." The 'no prince or princess will want a prince that smells of horse' remains unsaid. Instead, he says, "it's not becoming of the future king to smell like a horse."

Trudging toward the baths, one of the servants quietly snickers, 'he certainly keeps company with a horse.' Tim makes a note of the servant to change his post with heavy labor. More physically demanding labor will keep that servants' thoughts off silly fascinations. As Tim makes his way to the bath, a feather-light, sunny warm, tingling sensation guides his every step at the thought of his servants imagining the stable boy's leg over his hip.

-

"I'm giving up on poetry," Tim announces some days later. He drops his book of verses in Kon's lap with a sigh. "My poems are all yours now."

"You really dislike them that much?" Kon asks, looking over the book. Poetry is obviously less offensive to him by the way he smiles fondly at the first few pages he flips through.

"They're difficult to understand," Tim huffs. "It's like-- They all try to create this moment, or a feeling. I can't understand it. It's too romantic."

"Too romantic? There's such a thing?"

Tim clucks his tongue at Kon's mocking tone of disbelief. As if failing to understand isn't humiliating enough... In a small voice, he admits, "I've never been in love."

"You don't have to be in love to understand it," Kon reasons. He flips the book to a page at random, eyes scanning the lines. "This is a good one. All you have to understand is beauty. You've seen someone so beautiful it takes your breath away, haven't you?"

"I--" Tim's eyes remain trained on sky blue Kon's eyes. "I think I have, yes."

After a quick breath, Kon begins to read,  
"He walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in his aspect and his eyes;  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Kon looks up from the page, smirking at Tim, and Tim feels his throat constrict. Kon's voice is heavy, drawing out every soft syllable of the words and bringing the lyrical quality to life through his tone. He takes his time moving his mouth just so, eyes flickering from the page to the curve of Tim's jaw to the page once again.

"One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impaired the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er his face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."

Tim can feel the impact of every image Kon creates with his voice, and it's overwhelming that Tim nearly squirms. Pride alone keeps him in place, a trait that grows ever smaller as Kon leans closer to finish the poem near Tim's ear. He can smell the delicate hint of wine in Kon's hot breath curling against his ear.

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,  
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,  
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,  
But tell of days in goodness spent,  
A mind at peace with all below,  
A heart whose love is innocent!"

Kon remains fixed in place, allowing the poem's essence to diffuse around them, and it's only then that Tim remembers how to breathe.

"Kon..." Tim breathes. He slips his hand into Kon's and drags his larger palm over the first stanza, tapping his first finger over the words. "It says 'she' in the book."

"So it does," Kon says without looking at the text.

"Poetry is as confusing as ever," Tim whispers. Kon smirks and turns the page, taking a deep breath to recite the next poem.

-

Tim finds other ways to pass the wintry months in the stable. He teaches Kon how to waltz, which fork to each his greens with, and the way to introduce himself to a king or queen as if he were royalty himself. He teaches Kon how to write his name, Tim's name, and the word for 'love.' They practice their penmanship by carving their names into a plank of wood that remains hidden by hay in his riding horse's stable. Kon's handwriting looks like Tim's when he was six and he's stepped on Tim's toes at least a dozen times, but it doesn't stop Tim from visiting him in the stables day after day.

"I don't need these lessons," Kon insists with a laugh, as he falls on his side breathlessly. They've spent the better half of the hour parodying how princesses curtsy before potential suitors, and Tim's won their little contest, with his leg flexed out behind him, half bent over, and batting his eyelashes ridiculously. "It's not like I'm going to marry a princess any time soon."

Tim bites his bottom lip as he collapses beside Kon, smiling at his friend. "Well then, we'll just have to find you a prince."

Kon rolls to his side and presses up on his elbow, looking down at Tim with an amused smirk unlike anything Tim's seen before. "A prince indeed."

-

"And place your hand here. Hold me close and firm," Tim instructs, fixing one of Kon's hands on his left shoulder. Kon's body stiffens beneath his touch as Tim takes him by the small of the back, and Tim feels the grip on his shoulder tighten. When Tim reads aloud and Kon leans his head on Tim's shoulder, it's never like this. Sometimes Kon places his rough palm over Tim's knee or loops his elbow in Tim's, but never has Tim been able to feel the full warmth and weight of Kon's body. He feels Kon's every muscle flex and relax and the nervous twitch of Kon's thumb in Tim's hand. Tim feels a his throat tighten exactly the moment Kon squeezes his hand. Tim hasn't seen Kon look as afraid as now since the time Tim announced he wanted Kon to teach him how to woo. "It's just dancing, relax."

"Just dancing, you say." Kon ducks his chin close to his chest, the color on his face settling high on his cheeks. "Just dancing, my ass! Dancing with the prince is--"

"--no different than dancing with a milk maiden," Tim finishes for him. He squeezes Kon's hand back and asks, "do you trust me?"

"I trust you," Kon replies immediately. With a nod, they wordlessly being to negotiate the steps, Tim nudging his knee against Kon's thigh forward and Kon accepting the motion to step back. The first steps are awkward and forced more than anything, and Tim keeps clearing his throat for Kon to stop looking at his feet. They find a slow, gentle rhythm of making boxes in the stable when Tim begins to swivel Kon and move him from one side of the stable to the other.

Tim's knee nudges against Kon's leg but instead of stepping backward, Kon moves forward and steps on Tim's toe. When Kon exhales in distress, he's close enough that Tim can feel Kon's breath on his face and the spike in his blood pressure.

"It's fine," Tim says gently, before Kon can apologize. "Again."

-

Tim nearly -- no, definitely -- starts laughing when he opens the door to the stables to find Kon tracing his steps across the dirt, holding the mane of Tim's riding pony in his arms as a dancing partner. "Shall I teach you how to dip my riding horse as well? Should I be jealous?"

-

To say Tim stole a loaf of olive bread from the kitchens would be a misnomer, given that as the kingdom's prince, everything in the castle is his own. But to say Tim acquired that loaf of bread ethically would be as much of a misnomer as the former. Tim's just about to steal away from the pantry when two servant girls pass by his hiding spot and sigh bitterly. They squeal and shake off the sleet from their shoes, slopping it onto the floor.

"When it's as cold as this, the only thing that warms me is a body. I'm just so lonely lately!"

"You know what they say. For a quick lay in the hay, all you have to do is wait ten minutes behind the stables and the stable boy will have you on your way!"

It takes everything within Tim to still the sound that threatened to burst forth from his mouth. He pushes the lump down his throat, and it sinks into his stomach along with his heart.

"If only it were so easy. The most dreadful thing has happened. I fear our stable boy...has fallen in love!"

"In love? Impossible. He tumbles even with the boys. He's as shameless as can be."

The concealed prince shifts uncomfortably and wonders why his chest hurts. Kon in love... Now who was keeping secrets from who?

"Hear now, hear now. He sighs all day and has no appetite for his midday meal! I heard that he had to be told twice to prepare the prince's horse because he started smiling for no reason."

"Pure talk!"

"No, I've seen it firsthand myself! Poor Griselda was turned away. And for what? No more than a book!"

"Now who's telling tales? A stable boy reading? The idea of it is preposterous!"

"That's what all the staff is saying! Imagine that, a stable boy knowing his letters. Why, it's like a dog learning how to talk!"

"Now what use would he have for letters? The only thing he needs to know is how to get it up and how to put it--"

Tim clears his throat and crawls out from beneath the table skirt keeping him hidden. Both maids turn to him, one still gesturing lewdly, and nearly scream, curtsying deeply to their prince. Before they say another word, Tim simply says, "you both are dismissed from service. Good day."

-

"It's cold," Tim says, dropping the olive loaf in Kon's lap. Kon makes an excited sound somewhere between a cheer and a squeal as he sits up and hugs the loaf to his chest. "You need to keep warm. Bodies are good for that, aren't they?"

"Wha'?" Kon asks eloquently, not even bothering to cut a slice of bread before stuffing the end of the loaf into his mouth.

Tim sits beside Kon and taps his chin to close his mouth while chewing. Looking away, he shrugs. "Just servant talk."

"What are they saying about me now?" Kon groans, passing back the loaf. Tim shakes his head, and nods to Kon for him to keep it. Kon takes another bite, this time chewing in Tim's general direction and making a point to show his close-mouthed chewing.

"Just your...reputation." Tim's gaze flicks to Kon's face for his reaction as he ventures, very carefully, "or lack of, as of late."

"Oh. That." Kon takes another bite of the bread to keep himself from frowning. They both stare at the horses' tails jump and swish from side-to-side while Kon chews, though Tim grows impatient by the moment. "Don't listen to them. Whatever they're saying, it's not true. They talk just to talk. I haven't snuck into the shed or kissed anybody for several months now."

Tim takes a few moments to process Kon's annoyed tone. Everything about him is so open right now, from the way he holds the loaf in his lap to the way his brows are furrowed into his eyes while looking to Tim, as though Tim's opinion is the only one he cares for, as though Kon could live with anybody believing the rumors as long as Tim believes him. Tim feels-- something at that. He's not sure what it is, but it makes his stomach clench and flip and his lips tug into a smile without him realizing. It makes him feel cheeky, playful. "Tactics failing you?"

"Haven't any interest," Kon says bluntly. He doesn't move from his position and he sounds serious. It makes the hair on the back of Tim's neck rise and his palms feel sweaty. Tim's the first one to look away, and Kon resumes eating his favored bread.

Tim starts playing with the straw beneath his hand. There's etchings in the wood beneath his fingertips that write out the number of the year from when he taught Kon numbers a fortnight ago. "So the rumor's not true?"

"What rumor?"

"That you're in love."

Kon chokes on his bread. He attempts to wipe the crumbs he spat out from his mouth, but he does an ill job. Tim feels the need to reach out and wipe them clean, but restrains himself. If Kon is in love, then that should be a task reserved only for the one Kon loves. "I-- I'm-- Is it so obvious?"

"So it's true," Tim says with an air of finality. "We're...friends. Friends tell each other such things. You should have told me sooner."

"If I told you I was, you'd demand to know who it is." Kon holds Tim's eye for two seconds before bursting out into laughter. "You want to know now, don't you?"

"It's your business," Tim insists defensively. His eyes flickers to one of the horses and back to Kon, as though he could only feign distraction for a half-second. "Do I know this person?"

"Yes," Kon says in amusement. He keeps smirking even as Tim frowns.

"Do I know them personally?"

Kon hums as though thinking it over, but by his tone, Tim knows he's being played. "Very well."

"Then why not tell me?" Tim demands. He doesn't know why it should bother him that Kon remains mum on the matter, but... But... "Perhaps I could...counsel you. As you have counseled me."

"This person is...above my station." Kon watches Tim carefully, eyes tracking every tell of Tim's body. "Future kings and stable boys don't mix well together, I'm afraid."

Tim feels his chest squeeze. "You saw him at the Lunar Balls."

"Yes, but--"

"So he's one of the visiting princes from the neighboring lands," Tim concludes. Kon's face pinches and Tim feels his chest squeeze again when he takes Kon's expression as confirmation of his guess. "Well? Who is it? Perhaps I could...intervene on your behalf. Stable boy or not, any land would be blessed to have you as a future ruler. You're hard-working, charismatic, and practical. You're nothing like the future rulers that would spend months creating castles by the ocean while their people suffer. You'd make a fine king, a just one. I've seen the future kings, princes by blood. You'd make twice the king any of them could ever hope to be."

Kon watches Tim with such an intensity it looks like he might cry. When he looks away, his eyes are glassy and he laughs bitterly. "It's somebody far dumber than he thinks he is. Luckily he was blessed with a pretty face."

"You'd insult the person you love so?" Tim asks scandalized.

"This person is...far too dear for me to describe adequately," Kon responds passionately. His nostrils flare as he looks Tim dead in the eye, and that's how Tim knows Kon is serious. "Kind beyond measure, patient and wise beyond his years, and... Tim, you have no idea how hard it is not to embrace him every time I see him."

"I... I don't know anybody like that," Tim admits, quietly. Bitterly. Forlornly. There's a gap in his chest, though he can't fathom why.

"I assure you, you know this person better than I do."

Tim forces back a smile as fake as Kon's and wonders why Kon's lying to him.

-

"I have nothing left to teach you about wooing," Kon says lamely, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. "I thought you should know. So that-- So that you aren't making excuses to keep visiting me."

Tim looks up from where he's folded up in the nook Kon made for him. He simply pats the uncomfortable pillow next to him. "You haven't taught me anything about wooing in close to a season, Kon. If I didn't want to be here, I'd be long gone. Now sit and read me some poetry."

-

Winter comes and goes in a white haze of frost and snow. Before Tim knows it, he finds himself hiding at his own courting ball with Kon by his side once more.

"Stop staring," Tim snaps. He shifts uncomfortably in his winter robes, the dark ones his mother insists give him a more shapely figure. The laces on the sleeves and collar still feel like they're suffocating him, even though Tim unhooked them down to the base of his neck. "I know look ridiculous."

"You--" Kon looks away, his face red from his neck all the way up to his ears. "That was not my intention."

"No?" Tim's tone is skeptical but he's too occupied on observing this ball's slew of princes and princesses to fight. It's difficult to see from the annex courtyard, but he'd lost all his other hiding places throughout the course of the night. The Queen hadn't been as forgiving of his absence like she had at previous balls. "Every time, it's the same people. You would think they would learn that I'm not interested after the third or fourth ball... At this point, I'm sure they're here only for the music and hor d'oeuvres."

The two sit in the chill of night, watching from afar. Kon picks at his sleeve again, and Tim tries to make his voice as steady as possible. "You're sure you don't want to find your prince?"

"I know where he is," Kon answers far too quickly for Tim's liking. "Forget about it. Should we leave?" His voice oddly disappointed, and Tim sighs, disappointed in himself. Kon had been so good to teach him every wooing technique he knew, and here Tim was no closer to winning the heart of a future spouse.

"No, I... I'm just tired of the farce of it all," Tim says simply. "We've been here for hours and all of these suitors are as interesting as a horse's shoe."

Kon snorts in a way that suggests he doesn't disagree with Tim's assessment. "You've been eyeing the dancefloor all night, Tim. Are you sure there's not a prince who's caught your eye?"

"I want to dance," Tim admits, chin nearly touching his chest if not for the stiff collar holding it somewhat upright, "but there are no princes I wish to dance with me."

Cocking his head to the side, Kon sighs in a way that's difficult to interpret. It's neither relieved nor pleased. "I suppose it's no use then. Do you want to eat some more hor d'oeuvres? I could stomach another one of those cranberry pasties..."

"Kon," Tim says emphatically. Kon snaps to attention obediently, hor d'oeuvres forgotten. "Dance with me?"

"Me? In front of all these people? But I'm-- I'm no prince, Tim."

"We could do it here," Tim points out in an attempt to console Kon. "Nobody has to see. Why should it matter if you're a prince or not? I just... I never get to dance at any of my own balls."

"Because you refuse to dance with any of the princes who have traveled far and wide to dance with you," Kon points out teasingly.

"Yes, well. I don't want an empty-headed prince for a dancing companion." He sees how much the compliment affects Kon, who preens at the implication of Tim holding him in such high esteem. Tim takes a step forward into Kon's space, tracing the curve of the attendant garments across Kon's shoulders. "You know the steps I enjoy most and we never get to dance with music accompaniment..."

"I..." Kon sighs in that way of being unable to refuse. The music is rather pleasing, and it isn't like Kon can say he doesn't know how to dance, after Tim had spent so much time teaching Kon how to dip or be dipped, how to twirl a prince in his arms, and how to follow. He's still in no position to lead, but he knows Tim's usual routine well enough. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

The prince's face brightens considerably and he holds out a gloved hand. Kon accepts it and moves into Tim's space, shivering lightly as Tim's hands glide and settle on his body like liquid silver.

"Are you well?"

"It's just the frost," Kon insists. To his surprise, Tim holds him closer, so that they're practically chest-to-chest and their breath mixes in the same cloud of condensation. "That's-- better."

Tim nods approvingly and on the start of the beat, they begin to move. Their steps leave footprints in the thin layer of snow dusting the courtyard bricks, eventually kicking up so much snow that they uncover a gem mosaic of the sun rising over Tim's future kingdom. The mosaic goes unnoticed as they lose themselves in the music. The strings and chords blend beautifully together, making the marriage of the silver sheen of moonlight and the amber warmth of candlelight seem all the more magical. The light and shadows dance across Kon's face as they spin around the courtyard, and Tim finds himself drawn to Kon's eyes more than ever. In this lighting, they seem to change colors of blue, like the depths of the ocean at high noon to the blue of sky's daybreak. Snowflakes begin to trickle down but they pay it no mind, instead blowing the thin layers of frost off each other's hair, never parting, never pausing.

It's hard to believe Kon's only learned to dance within the past some fortnights by the way he doesn't look at his feet once and follows Tim's lead. Tim's taught his stable boy well, he thinks approvingly, and the saying of, 'you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink,' comes to mind. Tim smiles at the thought and presses closer to Kon, saying, "cold," when he tucks his head beneath Kon's chin. Their pace slows down even as the music swells to a flourish of strings and trumpets. One of Kon's arms slip down to Tim's waist in such a way that any onlooker might think they're embracing.

As the music comes to a crescendo, Kon takes a deep breath and begins, "I lov--" just as Tim squeezes Kon's hip and dips him. Kon clutches onto Tim so that their bodies arch against each other, but Tim has Kon's weight securely balanced with a foot planted firmly. Even as Tim leans Kon back into standing position, Kon remains glued to Tim's form.

"Did I take you by surprise?" Tim asks -- or attempts to. His throat is too dry and he's much too taken with how Kon smells of hay and sweet bath salts to remember words.

Kon nods and his head dips to Tim's neck, just below his ear. Kon's lips move against the bared flesh of his neck and Tim hallucinates hearing an, "I don't want you to marry."

- 

The snow melts and welcomes spring. It brings blooms and small creatures and sunshine out of hiding, and it reveals the paths for riding that Tim missed so much during winter. His amiable rides with Kon resume, and they continue to read in the afternoon when the day stretches by slowest. Kon shuts his book, staring at the leather cover for a good moment before stealing Tim's book and closing it as well.

"I was reading that," Tim points out.

"We need to talk. It's been nearly a year since you asked me to help you woo a princess, yet you're no closer than a year ago. Do you think you'll ever find a prince or princess?" Tim sighs at the question, but Kon shakes his head seriously, lips white and thinned out. "It's not like there's a shortage of pretty princes."

"It's not just about looks, Kon," Tim says stiffly, remembering the prince who kept smiling at Tim at the last ball before he was able to sneak away. The sick feeling in his stomach from the prince's lack of modesty or shame hasn't left, even as Tim's mind races to figure out ways to dispel the rumors that prince has no doubt began to plot.

"You're making it all complicated," Kon sighs. He rests against one of the haystacks, smiling easily. "All you royal types have it so easy. You're all pretty."

Tim's quiet as he turns the thought over in his mind. Shoulders braced more stiffly than usual, he follows the sliver of warm sunlight cracking through the barn door to where Kon's seated against the bound squares of hay they've begun to substitute for the uncomfortable seat pillows. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Well, I- I mean." Kon begins to stammer, looking away. "They say you're the most becoming prince in all the land."

"I've heard the rumors," Tim agrees easily, now leaning over his knees in interest. "But I asked what you think."

Kon's cheeks flush a pink that suits maidens who milk the cows better than the boy who cleans their stables. "You're my prince."

Tim settles back against the wooden beam marking their space from the rest of the stables. There's something satisfying about the way Kon whispered that confession, as though it were a secret, as though the possession was something more than the difference between a lord and liege. Tim smiles, content with the answer, and Kon smiles back shyly.

"I am your prince," he repeats, just as quietly.

-

"Your rider is a real pain, you know that?" Tim overhears Kon say, as he approaches the stables. "When he sits next to me, it's like I forget how to woo and I want to do is kiss him. He doesn't even have to do anything and he has me half wooed!"

Tim snaps both hands over his mouth, pressing himself to the wall outside the stable. With the door to the stables open, he can hear everything. Kon must have forgot to close it... Slamming himself against the outside of the stable makes a creak but Kon doesn't seem to notice and he continues to grumble, "why does his skin have to be so clear and pretty? Why are his lips so pink? It's a recipe for seduction."

Tim's horse makes a gruff sound, and Tim hears a low patting sound, no doubt giving the horse a rub and encouraging pats. "I knew you would agree with me. They don't understand us normal folk. Royals like that just aren't fair. They're too pretty and you can't do anything about it. If I was a royal... I know that's silly. Why would I want to be like them anyway? All they ever do is complain about how their coat's too blue or their hair's not fluffy enough. It's mindless." The horse makes another gruff sound and neighs and Kon hums in agreement. "You don't like me talking about your rider like that, do you? Tim is...different. He actually cares. I'm glad he's my prince, but...but what was that 'I am your prince' nonsense? He can't be blinded by how he's affected me so!"

The gentle sounds of the thistle brush passing through a coarse mane continue to repeat rhythmically in the stable. Kon's voice is much quieter when he asks the horse, "do you think he'd ever be my prince in the way I wish he were?"

Tim attempts to still his heart as Kon continues to complain about Tim being too pretty or too smart. His heart doesn't listen, and even as he tries to convince himself that Kon must have been talking about something else, his heart threatens to leap out of his ribs. It takes a minute before Tim grounds himself enough to trust his voice won't give him away. The last thing he needs is for Kon to know how much he's heard or thought about. He waits until Kon starts complaining about the King and Queen before revealing himself, knocking on the door as a display. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

He watches with a pleasure he won't admit as Kon drops the brush instantly and fumbles to pick it up.

"N-Nothing, uh....milord?" Kon insists questioningly, and Tim could laugh from how unsure Kon is at the attempt at respect. As if to cover up his talk, Kon begins brushing Tim's horse with more gusto than the slow, constant ebbs Tim heard earlier. "I was just preparing your steed for today's ride."

"So it's not true you think my father a braggart and my mother a flirt?" Tim asks, in a serious tone, and revels only slightly in how apologetic Kon appears. "I'm joking, Conner. I'm well aware of my family's faults. I don't intend to repeat them once I'm King."

"You won't," Kon says confidently, and Tim wonders how he can be so sure. "You, um... Is that all you heard?"

"Yes," Tim says tightly. His chest feels as tight as his voice and throat, but it feels wrong to say he overheard everything.

-

Tim pulls his pillow over his face in an attempt to get more comfortable before throwing it against his wall entirely. He's never felt like this before, so unable to feel comfortable in his own skin. His mind races when he lays himself down to sleep, ability to rest entirely lost. If what he heard is true then the person Kon is in love with is... Tim drags his hands down his face and digs the ball of his wrists into his eyes. No, that can't be right. Tim's never been so unsure in his life. He's never wooed and he's never been wooed. He's not sure what this feeling is, other than it makes him feel dizzy.

-

"You're hot," Kon says, face much closer than he needs to be, and Tim feels himself blush.

"A-Am I?" Tim asks, noticing his voice is a pitch higher than usual. He reaches for the hay between them but finds Kon's hand instead. Surprisingly, Kon twists his hand to slip his fingers between Tim's, squeezing. Kon reaches out but instead of cupping Tim's chest like expected, he brushes Tim's bangs aside.

"Really hot." Tim makes a sound to insist he's alright, but not before Kon rests his palm against Tim's forehead. It must be a hallucination, Tim suspects, when he imagines Kon's fingertips soothing over his skin. "You okay? You're burning up."

"I'm fine," Tim says, but his voice comes out small and hoarse. "I'm just flushed from the sun. This happens every spring."

"You're pink in the face and spacing out," Kon observes. "It's more than just the sun."

"It's nothing," Tim insists. He doesn't want Kon to worry any more than he is already, so he keeps quiet about how empty his chest has been these past few days, or how his heart literally throbs every time he suspects Kon might embrace him but holds back.

"You're sick. No riding today." Kon's voice has an air of finality to it and it takes less effort than Tim is willing to admit for Kon to herd Tim into his corner of the stables and wrap a blanket around him. Kon tucks the blanket around Tim, unaware of how each brush of his skin against Tim's make Tim's face all the hotter.

-

"They say," Kon begins, "They say you are... Well."

"What do they say?" Tim asks, from his bundle of covers. His voice is too raspy and he takes another sip from the warm milk Kon brought to him.

"They say you are sick. -- Sick with lovesickness."

"I'm not. I'm--"

"--sighing for no reason and green in the face," Kon finishes. "I've heard of your odd habits as of late from your chambermaid and the head chef said it definitely wasn't her oysters that caused your recent ill. Your mother is calling for you to be wed at once to ensure your health."

"It's nonsense. I can't be lovesick," Tim insists. "I'm not in love. I've never been in love."

"I see," Kon says, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

-

Tim grows weaker by the day, head dizzier and lighter as the days go on, but it doesn't stop him from visiting his friend. There's no telling when he'll be too ill to make the short trip to the stables, and he wants to see Kon until the better end. Rumors of his sickness have spread to even the milk maids, but Tim pays them no mind.

Kon changes out the cloth soaked in cool water that he placed over Tim's forehead a half hour ago. "Any better?"

"Yes," Tim says. Kon has him laying down on the hay and their pillow seats today, barely enough room for Kon to kneel beside Tim. Kon continues to pet his hair, carefully switching out his towel when it gets lukewarm and attending to him in general. It's probably not fair to take advantage of Kon like this when Tim knows Kon's true feelings, but he can barely keep his eyes open, let alone think properly. The prince feels his throat tighten at Kon's concerned expression looming over him, but Tim suspects it's merely a cough. He might be sick indeed.

-

It happens while they're out for a ride. Thank heavens Kon has accompanied him on his rides or else Tim might have been lost in the woods for who knows how long. All he knows is that one moment he's riding comfortably beside Kon's horse in the glen, and the next second Kon is yelling and the world is spinning. Tim wakes up in his bedchamber, sweating.

-

"You passed out while you were riding," his mother explains. "So you see why we cannot let you ride until you regain your strength. You're lucky that stable boy was nearby and brought you directly to us. Imagine if he had taken advantage of you!"

"Mother, please leave." Tim trains his eyes on the book in his lap in an attempt to stifle any inclination of fighting. There's no stopping his mother mother once she begins prattling, but insults against Kon are something he cannot and will not stomach.

She gathers her skirts and crosses to the door, now fixed with a lock from the outside. "Timothy, please understand. We're doing this for your own good."

"By holding me captive?" he counters spitefully. Tim closes his eyes and pretends he's galloping through the forest, Kon nudging his horse to catch up. "You've kept me in here for days now. I miss riding, mother."

"We're simply worried for you." Her hand rests against the threshold. "Are we not allowed to worry about our only son?"

"I'm not lovesick, mother. It's just a spell from the changing seasons." He's not even in love, he reasons, turning the page and thinking Kon might like this book.

-

"Nobody's seen the prince in days. I hear the betting pool for anybody who so much as catches a glimpse of the prince wins a quarter silver," one of the maids says from outside Tim's locked door.

"I heard even the stable boy tried visiting," a house boy answers back. Unable to ask about it, Tim straightens in place and hones in on the gossip. "He's been asking about the prince for days now."

"Is he so poor off without the prince visiting him every day that he has to resort to such cheap tricks? I heard he's secretly holding affections for the prince."

"Who knows. He was turned away at--" Their footsteps ring loudly as they pass by Tim's door and just as quickly fade. The house boy's voice drowns into the distance as they pass by his room.

Kon. Kon tried to see him and he was turned away. Tim clutches his bedsheets and feels more ill than from the lovesickness.

-

Unable to push himself out of bed anymore, Tim rips a page from his book of Shakespeare's sonnets and writes a note with the feather and ink bottle he keeps by his bedside. He'd begun to teach Kon how to read and write script, but he pens in print just in case. There's not much space in the margin but he manages to fit, 'Held hostage in bed. Still sick. I miss you. Yours, Timothy,' in the space around Sonnet 33. While his message cools, he peels off the wax from a letter his father sent to him that morning. The edge of the letter burns, and the rest of the letter is sacrificed by how he uses it to melt and mold the seal. Without a doubt, he feels it's worth it. He carefully folds his note and shapes the warm wax onto it, stamping the seal on his ring into the wax. Kon would be able to tell from his penmanship alone, but Tim's counting on his seal to ensure the letter's safe arrival.

After arranging his letter, he waits until dusk for the chambermaid to come in and fix out his pillows. Tim reaches out for her wrist when she exchanges the goose down pillows, smiling sweetly as he commands, "ensure the stable boy receives this. Do not pass it along. Deliver it directly."

He slips a penny with his note and the maid nods with a convinced smile. When she leaves his chambers, Tim shifts uncomfortably against the pillows. Never has Tim a night as restless as this one.

-

"Is this deed done?" Tim demands, the following dusk.

The bedchamber maid smiles expectantly and Tim sighs as he passes her another penny. She helps her prince sit up so she can arrange the pillows, replacing them like she did last night. "It is done, your highness."

Tim sighs relief but feels none and she scuffles out. Once again, Tim fusses with his pillows, this time finding them too starchy. He shifts and reshifts until he realizes there's something stuffed in his pillow and pulls it out. Crumpled less elegantly than Tim's letter is a page of Shakespeare's Sonnet 30, with the messy scribble of, 'Miss you to. Gard wont let me in. Your boy, Conner.'

The message brings a smile to his face and Tim traces the familiar penmanship with his fingertip, indulging in the letter a moment. Kon ran out of space after the second sentence, his script much too wide and shaky to fit much into the margin of the poem, but Tim's eyes linger on Kon's closing. 'Your boy,' it reads, and Tim imagines Kon trying to fit in 'stable' before realized there's not enough space. He reads the message over two more times before folding it up and slipping it into the breast pocket of his nightgown.

-

Despite his illness, the queen announces the Winter's End Lunar Ball is to held as though he were in full health. Tim sits in his bed, buried in furs and the pile of Kon's letters they've been exchanging every night through the chambermaid for the past weeks. He looks over Kon's latest message, writ in the margins of 'the Passionate Shepherd to His Love,' and places it among the other notes. It's only now with everybody else occupied at the ball that he dare spread all of Kon's letters across his bed, and it's only now that the letters are spread across his bed that he notices Kon has a taste for the pastoral. There's a distinct improvement in both Kon's spelling and penmanship since the first letter, though they all remain signed, "Your boy, Conner."

Tim takes his time carefully writing his next response. It's a clever but probably unnoticed detail that he pens this letter on 'the Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.' Somewhere after their fourth exchange, the poems began to seem less arbitrary than Tim intended. Tim carefully repeats his process of folding the letter and fixing his seal. As he looks outside the sole window of his room, he wonders if Kon is staring at the sky and missing his prince as well.

-

Despite being the object of the announcement, Tim learns of the proclamation his parents announced at the Winter's End ball only the day after. As his chambermaid explains it to him, rumors of his lovesickness have spread to the farthest edges of the Kingdom along with the proclamation that whoever should cure the prince shall receive his hand in marriage as well. Another chambermaid agrees as she combs the prince's hair into place and the other fixes flowers into his nightgown 'for extra sweetness.'

No sooner than prepped, the first suitor bursts through his door, shouting, "my prince, for you!" A chalice of gold is shoved in his face, which the suitor describes with the powers to heal any who drinks from it. A princess shoves at the knight, presenting a sweet cake. "My gift promises health! Don't let him fool you," she insists. She too is shoved aside when a prince plows in from behind, offering an elixir created by his wisest physicians to cure lovesickness. "Marry me and all the bounties of my land shall be yours," he promises, smacking away the other gifts. They're only the first three to begin crowding about, and Tim fights the urge to scream as the suitors overtake his room.

-

At dusk, all his suitors are shooed away, and the young prince wishes for nothing more than to rest. Never has he felt as exhausted as after this day, suitor after suitor offering mindless gifts to win his favor. His stomach has yet to settle from all the cure-alls, exotic spices, and sweet pastries claiming to cure him of his illness.

"Leave me," he groans weakly to the knock at his door, just before it creaks open. Tim sighs deeply and resigns himself to more pestering, closing his eyes as he accepts his fate.

"Dinner, your majesty?"

"'Your majesty' is my father. I am--" Tim begins to explain in exhaustion, but upon recognition his eyes snap open. "Kon!"

The stable boy winks back, fixing the bronze serving platter on the only spot in the room that isn't covered in an obnoxious gift. "Thought you'd might like some real food."

"But you-- How?" Tim attempts to sit up, but finds himself too weak to manage it completely. Kon wraps his arms around Tim's middle and props him up when Tim is unable to lift himself. Tim blushes mildly, feeling useless. "You're here..."

"Your chambermaid made it clear I'm only allowed to stay until midnight," Kon explains. He pulls up a chair, attempting and failing to not appear impressed with Tim's spoils. "They've proclaimed that whoever can cure you shall win your hand in marriage as well. There are roomfuls of suitors waiting to meet you already and there's not an empty room in all of town. They even have me rooming the lesser knights in the stables. Can you believe it?"

Tim merely gestures to the useless items strewn about. "I can believe it. You said you have food?"

"Are sweetmeats and greens to your liking? Because that's all I have," Kon says by apology. But Tim shakes his head, reaching out for the fork. Though eager, he drops the fork holding his meats and feels shame burn his cheeks once more. Having been cooped in his room for so long, he hadn't realized how weak he'd truly become. "Allow me."

Without missing a beat, Kon grabs the fork and begins to feed Tim. Between bites and Kon tipping water into Tim's mouth, Tim asks of his pony, of the books Kon's read, of the sunshine. Kon replies patiently to Tim's every question, every now and then fussing at Tim's blanket to make sure Tim's properly covered or wiping some of the gravy from the edge of Tim's mouth. Tim asks and asks and asks and doesn't realize the time until the clock-tower begins to ring. Kon stands up and tucks Tim into the covers. "I must be off."

"Will you visit me tomorrow?" Tim asks, reaching for Kon's wrist. "Please say you will."

"Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that," Kon promises, looking down at the hand thinner and paler than he remembers. "Until eternity and the life after." Kon smiles weakly and Tim attempts to smile back. What's left unsaid hangs heavily between them, but the clock snaps Kon into action once again. "Tomorrow, my prince."

"Good night, Kon," Tim says softly as Kon backs away to blow the candles out. The last image before Tim falls asleep is of Kon's gentle smile. He has the most peaceful rest since his illness took him.

-

The next day, Tim barely has patience for any of his suitors. The Queen is by his side today, and she reminds him not to snap at the offerings for the first three hours. Tim makes it through a small sea of suitors before he dismisses them for the day, claiming to be too ill. The Queen purses her lips in both disapproval and worry, petting her son's hair for a time. Announcing that the prince is ill and she'll see them individually in the main hall, she leaves him for the afternoon, much to Tim's pleasure.

Solitude is both a blessing and a curse, Tim realizes, for all he can think of is Kon's return at dusk. He attempts to tidy his room for his friend but finds it impossible in his state of health. He spends the rest of the day reading, which is pleasant enough, if not for the fact that the day seems to drag on. Yellow sunshine turns into the red of sunset, and the cool of night comes too slowly.

At the knock at his door, Tim heart leaps and he nearly sounds cheerful when he announces, "enter!"

Unsurprisingly, Kon's at the door and he toes his way inside, this time the platter silver. "Good evening, my prince."

It takes all of Tim's strength to push himself up and Kon helps him sit up the rest of the way after placing the platter at the foot of his bed.

"Less tokens of love today," Kon notices, as he feeds Tim spoonfuls of soup.

The prince nods, letting Kon wipe a dribble of soup off his chin. "I sent them away early today. They were making the illness worse."

"I'm sorry." Kon's voice sounds like it's on the verge of cracking and Tim's more mad that the suitors could ever draw such a voice from Kon than the personal nuisance they caused himself. Kon attempts a fond smile as he picks up a piece of dyed sheep's wool. "What's this?"

"A cure for my sickness. Supposedly it wards off the evil spirits." Kon passes the ugly fluff when Tim motions for it, and Tim fixes it to his head like a cap. He alternates position of his arms to model off the atrocity. Kon instantly laughs and Tim pretends to be scandalized. "Do you not see it working? The ghosts can't pry into my brain with a sheep on my head!"

"Absolutely ridiculous," Kon says, after belting out a laugh. His loud voice settles into soft giggles until an easy, lazy graces his lips.

"I missed that," Tim says. He finds himself leaning lopsided -- and not just because the sheep weighs him down.

Kon matches Tim's leaning so that he looks right-side up from Tim's slant. "What?"

"Your smile."

Kon ducks his chin, ears going red. "You flatter me."

He makes himself busy with Tim's dinner again as Tim reaches out for his hand. He settles his hand atop Kon's and rests so that his fingers nearly twine with Kon's. "I mean it, Kon. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Kon whispers. He looks up from the soup through his dark eyelashes and manages a smile.

It makes Tim feel squirmy and giddy and like he can't stay still. He shucks off the dyed wool and tosses it to the other side of his room. They pass the remaining time inspecting Tim's gifts between sips of soup. Tim's gathered quite the collection of love potions, arousing bath salts, and pleasure toys shaped in no way that could bring pleasure. The Queen was quite stern about those gifts, but Tim had accepted them for the sole purpose of sharing them with Kon. They laugh over the gifts and drink a few of the love potions, finding no change even hours later.

Eventually Tim pats the empty space at the head of his bed, by the pillows he reclines on. "I'm not hungry anymore, Kon. Sit here with me."

Kon lets the silver fall into the bowl and settles the platter away, taking a seat on Tim's bed, moving a pillow aside with such delicacy one would think the pillow would break. Tim fluffs them up. "What would you have me?"

"I want to read something to you," Tim says. He reaches to his nightstand, grabbing his book of sonnets. As he turns the pages to the mark he kept with Kon's gifted wildflowers, he realizes how many pages are torn out, all pages with secret messages folded and transported to Kon. Tim takes a deep breath once he finds his page and prepares to read. He holds the book up to his face, covering his mouth, and he watching Kon out of the slant of his eyes. "I-- Don't laugh. I'm not as good at reciting poetry as you are."

"I won't judge," Kon assures, cheeks tinted pink.

Tim nods and exhales his held breath. He takes another breath calmly beginning,  
"My love is as a fever, longing still  
For that which longer nurseth the disease,  
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,  
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.  
My reason, the physician to my love,  
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,  
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve  
Desire is death, which physic did except.  
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,  
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest.  
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,  
At random from the truth vainly expressed,  
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,  
Who art as black as Hell, as dark as night."

Tim shuts his mouth to let the emotion of the poem settle. He looks up hopefully from the book, biting his bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably in his sheets as he watches Kon's face change, mulling over the poem. "Well?"

"...Tim, why did you recite that poem to me?"

"I..." Tim pets the cover of his book. "I haven't been able to make sense of poetry until now. When I read this, I thought of you and instantly... Instantly I..."

"Yes?" Kon asks expectantly, beginning to lean in. Tim's eyes dart across Kon's features, taken in every detail. Kon's face has been close to his own before, but it's never been like this, so quiet, so intentional, slow enough to note Kon's chapped lips, the blemish on his cheek, and each hair on his brow.

Before Tim has the chance to reply, the clock-tower begins to ring. Kon startles out of Tim's bed, gathering up the platter and blowing out the candles. "I must be on my way. I'll return tomorrow."

Tim barely calls, "good night," to Kon when he finds himself alone. Tim rolls into the warm spot where Kon sat on his bed and wishes for sleep to take him quickly.

-

The hours can't pass soon enough. Tim closes his eyes as a knight offers the sword he used to slay a dragon, a symbol of hope to Tim's health. All he can think about is Kon and the way his face leaned in close to Tim's lips.

-

"How are you feeling today?"

"Better now that you're here," Tim says honestly. Kon has a golden platter tonight and he fixes it on the nightstand for the moment, attention turned to helping Tim sit upright. His hands are careful of Tim's ribs as they trail up to his armpits to lift him up. Kon has one knee braced on the mattress to steady them, but Tim helps pull his weight, frowning. "You don't have to treat me like glass. I know the rumors. 'The Prince grows weaker by the day,'" he says in his best mock servant voice, "and it's true. I am getting weaker. But I'm not about to die from something like..."

"Lovesickness," Kon finishes for him, blushing. "And I didn't mean to make you feel like... I'm sorry. I just-- I didn't want--"

"You didn't want to hurt me," Tim says. "I know, Kon. But you're too kind and gentle to hurt me."

Kon awkwardly hovers with his knee pressing into the mattress, one foot on the floor. "I..."

"Sit," Tim commands. Kon kicks off his shoes and settles next to Tim like he did last night. Tim shakes his head and lifts the covers. He's of a mood today and his voice is strained. "No, come closer. Share my heat. I want to try something."

Kon crawls beneath the sheets with some trepidation. He settles his weight next to Tim so that their legs press against each other firmly and their shoulders bump. Kon almost looks to be in pain when he says, "and now?"

"And now..." Tim's breath trails off as he melts against Kon. He hooks one ankle over Kon's and snakes an arm around Kon's waist. The other he rests on Kon's hip, cheek leaned against Kon's shoulder so that his nose numps against the bump of Kon's throat. "Hold me."

"Tim?" Kon asks, voice tight.

"I don't want to think of it. I just-- I feel like I need you to hold me." Tim clings and moments later, Kon's arms wrap around him. "I'm scared."

Kon begins to rub his back in the way his mother never did. "Of dying?"

Tim nods. A strangled sound escapes him and he swallows it back down. "I don't want to d-die. But I'm not getting any better. It's getting worse by the day. Soon, I'll-- I'll--"

"No, I won't let you," Kon says harshly, squeezing Tim. "I forbid it."

"You can't forbid death," Tim says, voice shaky with laughter and tears. Kon's burying his face in Tim's hair and here Tim is pressing his wet face into Kon's neck. They stay wrapped up and squeezing each other until Tim's shivers subside and the hiccups from his tears cease. Kon pats Tim's back like a child, but Tim can't bring himself to hate it. Quite the opposite, he wish Kon could keep patting him forever, and even though they're pressed against each other as tight as two people can be, he wishes they were impossibly closer.

"I... I wish to be the one to cure you," Kon admits in a raspy confession, hands flexing on Tim's ribs and hip. It's only then Tim realizes the shaking was Kon, not himself. "But I have no fortune to spend on making elixirs nor the talent to make you cakes. It's a silly wish."

"It's not silly." Tim's voice is barely audible.

"It is. I can't even afford you a proper gift. I spent all my earnings on something that will bring you no comfort," Kon says.

Tim breaks apart just enough to look up at Kon. He's surprised to see Kon's face as wet at his own and Tim wipes them away with his thumb. "What is it?"

"I can't. It's silly compared to all of these gifts." Kon sighs heavily, face pinching in on itself.

"Kon." Tim cups Kon's cheek and wipes the welling tears away again. "Show me."

With a final quake, Kon nods and struggles to reach the platter without detangling himself from Tim. Tim leans against Kon's chest and Kon makes a sound like he pulled a muscle before settling in place again, this time a leather-bound book in his hand. "It's yours."

Tim opens the book to the title page and lets out a puff of laughter. "Shakespeare's sonnets?"

"I... I thought you might require another," Kon explains nervously, "given how many you've sacrificed to make notes to me."

Tim flips through the pages, letting out a delightful sound when he realizes Kon has marked his favorite poems with pressed flowers and wrote notes in the margins.

"To help you understand the poetry," Kon whispers.

"This is..." Tim breathes steadily, flipping through each page of notes. "How long did it take to do this?"

"I read one poem a day." Kon's blushing so hard that Tim can feel the heat radiate off of him. "There's...over a hundred."

"A hundred and fifty-four," Tim corrects precisely. He closes the book and rests his palm on the cover. "This is... _Kon_."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Kon breathes back. "Whenever you left at night, I would read one and think of you."

"Do you remember what you said when you taught me about gifts?" It doesn't take much movement to arrangement himself so that he's eye-level with Kon and a breath apart. "Consider me properly wooed now."

Either Kon leans forward or Tim presses to meet him or perhaps it was a bit of both. All they know is that their lips meet and it's sweet. Tim cups Kon's cheek and caresses him through the kiss, as Kon's legs bend in pleasure, all the way down to his toes. They sink into Tim's pillows during the kiss and when they open their eyes and part eyes, both are breathless.

"You're glowing," Kon says.

"So are you," Tim says with a mischievous smile.

"No, I mean-- Tim, you're _glowing!"_ Kon says, shooting upright.

Tim sits up just as quickly, finding his strength returned. Tim looks down at his hands, finding his skin normal, and looks up to Kon in confusion. He pats his body and pulls at his gown to check for anything amiss, but finds himself intact. Kon, however, grabs the golden platter and shakes off everything on it. He lifts it up for Tim like a mirror, and Tim's form makes a bright reflection in the plate.

"I'm on fire!" Tim shrieks loudly. He pats his hands on his cheeks before he even thinks that they might burn his hands, but he's pleased to find no difference in temperature.

"You're not on fire! You're just-- glowing," Kon tries to assure. "It's-- Well, it's adorable, but, Tim--"

"Why am I glowing?" Tim quietly wails.

"It's getting dimmer," Kon assures, petting Tim's face for inspection.

A loud shuffling grows nearer and the next instant, the door to Tim's room bursts forth. It's a moment of dizziness as the guards spill in and hold their swords at point against Kon's throat. "Unhand him, rogue!"

"No, he's innocent!" In one smooth motion, Tim pulls Kon away from the weapons, jumps over him, and holds himself as a shield between Kon and the guards. "See for yourself, I'm cured!"

"What is this?" the Queen demands as she breaks through the line of guards and charges her son into a hug. "Did this scoundrel--?"

"No! He's cured me, mother. See?" Tim grabs one of her hands and holds it to his face, much warmer and softer than the past weeks. The Queen begins to weep, holding her son against her. The King trails not far behind her, nodding to the guards for dismissal. Soon, Tim finds himself at the center of three attentions, hugged more than he's possibly been within the past year.

"Our son is cured!" The King proclaims. "You, boy. You are the one who's performed this miracle?"

"Um, I guess?" Kon says shyly. "I mean, uh, yes, Your Majesty. But, um, all I did was kiss him..."

"Your first kiss?" he ask.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

"True love's first kiss!" the Queen begins to wail.

Tim attempts to detach himself from his mother, shaking his head. "Everybody knows true love's first kiss isn't real."

True love's first kiss or not, the King and Queen begin to concoct wedding plans through their happy tears, for they had seen their son not only cured but happily wed as well. They paid no heed to the stable boy's station or lineage, knowing that his heart must be pure to win the affections of their son. They swept the two boys out of bed and marched them to the court to be beheld by all of the suitors as proof of the prince's recovery. It's a bit of a show, and both boys blush, but they look into each other's eyes and brush the hair out of their faces, and lean in to kiss in front of all, a sea of cheers and suitors' disappointed sighs floating about them.

-

"So... I hadn't the chance before, what with all the glowing and the ruckus," Kon says, once they've been left in Tim's chambers, now king-to-be and husband-to-be. Tim twists in Kon's arms to watch him face-to-face. "But I want to tell you properly. I--"

"I love you," Tim says, beating him to the punch. "Marry me?"

Kon leans forward to kiss Tim breathless again and their kiss only breaks because the two of them are smiling too wide.

-

Despite the publicity of their union, prince Timothy and his stable boy's ceremony is a private, quiet affair. They exchange rings and vows, rhymed in verse. And when it's declared to kiss the groom, the rest of the world melts away.

-

At summer's end, the Queen insists on throwing another ball, this time to celebrate the young king-to-be's union. They sit on matching chairs to the King and Queen's, making fun of the delicate attendants and the princes' attempts of wooing other princes. Tim hies to the dessert table to fetch one of Kon's favored apple tarts, and takes his time walking back to his husband. There's princes twirling princesses and princesses chasing other princesses, but no matter how fair or bonny they are to behold, it's nothing compared to the sight that is Kon.

As he approaches his boy -- nay, his king -- Tim feels the knot in his throat begin to relax. A sense of comfort washes over him when Kon smiles, and it's so dazzling to behold the sight of absolutely joy on Kon's face that Tim stumbles on the short ascent of stairs. Kon catches him before he falls and kisses Tim's wound as though his kisses were as healing as the time it cured Tim's illness from not long ago. It's silly, Tim thinks, that he should feel as light as a feather whenever Kon kisses him and as though a single kiss could cure his every wrong.

"For you, husband," Tim says, blushing from his fall, while handing over the rescued tart.

"Thank you," Kon whispers back after biting off a piece, " _husband_."

They don't even make it back to their seats. Instead they remain perched on the stairs, legs tucked close and leaning together as they did for so many days in the stables. They exchange feeding each other spoonfuls of tart until only the crumbles are left, and Tim kisses the crumbs from Kon's lip. Their open affection has earned them some less than polite reputations throughout the castle, but they pay it no mind, too happy with the love they share for each other to bother with such rumors.

Eventually Kon stands up and brushes his trousers of the wrinkles. He extends a gloved hand like a vision from Tim's past. "May I have this dance, my love?"

Tim's hand slides into Kon's, and it's hard to say who guides who to the dancefloor. Kon rests his hand on Tim's shoulder in proper follow position, smiling expectantly when Tim holds him by the small of his back but remains still. "Something the matter?"

Rationally, it makes no sense. Tim's the one dressed more extravagantly, with his buckles and frills and laced straps holding the velvets secure. Even the attending royals from lands far away are dressed more lavishly than his husband, who wears plain but well-fitted garments, an elegant variation on his usual working cloths. Yet the color of the robes bring out Kon's eyes, his shaven face makes Kon's smile appear all the more radiant, and the freshly trimmed hair makes his jaw appear more pronounced. Kon doesn't need all the frills, which he picked at away during the fittings anyway.

"You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," voice laced with awe and wonder.

It's a wonder Kon doesn't look to the ground like Tim's grown so accustomed to seeing. The blush remains the same, but his eyes remain fixed on Tim's, and his voice is genuine and true when he says, "only because you haven't beheld yourself the way I see you."

The music flourishes again and they begin to move, gliding across the dancefloor smooth as liquid. Kon's hand moves closer to Tim's neck until his fingertips begin to play with the short hairs at the base of Tim's nape. Tim's pressed himself closer than he perhaps needs to and keeps one of Kon's thighs trapped between his own with every move, Kon following every direction expertly.

As the strings transform the music into a bouncy allegro, Tim can't help but notice himself smiling every time he tries to train it down. "You must think me a loon. I can't stop smiling."

"The thought occurred to me," Kon teases. His breath plays along Tim's bottom lip, eyes sharpening in worry. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." The soon-to-be king closes his eyes for a moment but finds it a more confusing place than when he's looking into Kon's eyes. "It's just-- Have you ever felt...breathless when you're with someone? Like, you're breathing-- you're not-- there's no restraints or anything... Everything seems perfectly fine except you, and-- does the world ever just spin?"

Kon's lips thin wider and wider as Tim speaks until it looks like there's no more room on his face to smile, and after Tim's spun him, Kon leans in, and kisses him square on the mouth. He says, "That's how I feel _every_ time I'm with you."

"How do you deal with it? It's... It's so...consuming. Nothing seems to make sense," he apologizes. Kon merely squeezes his hand. "I'm not even making sense right now, am I? The room feels hotter all of a sudden, but the weather hasn't changed... Things feel blurry and clear at the same time... I don't know what to do..."

"Love me. That's all you can do. It's not supposed to make sense, Tim. That's why it's called _falling_ in love." Tim will always wonder how Kon can view things so simply, and he will always love him for it. "I don't know about you, but nothing makes sense to me when I'm falling."

Tim clamps his mouth shut and just. Huffs in frustration. 'No,' he wants to tell himself. 'No, it _needs_ to make sense.' He must furrow his brow or frown like a petulant child or something, because Kon only looks at Tim like that when he's thinking something silly.

"Don't worry, my prince," Kon laughs, placing a chaste kiss on Tim's cheek. "I'll spend the rest of my life helping you try to make sense of it."

"I am your King now," Tim says, clucking his tongue, "as are you."

The music begins to wind down and Kon rests his forehead against Tim as they hold each other closer for a slow dance. "I haven't a care what anybody says. You'll always be my prince."

Tim bumps his nose against Kon's and breathes there for a moment, their eyelashes fluttering against each other when he whispers, "and you'll always be my stable boy."

-

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
